


Half-Gone

by Fantasio



Category: Myst Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, One Shot, POV Original Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-13
Updated: 2013-06-13
Packaged: 2017-12-14 21:30:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/841601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fantasio/pseuds/Fantasio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if there had been a third brother? Here his name is Kedri, and he is the main protagonist of this story.</p><p>Part of a bigger piece. Intentionally vague for the moment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Half-Gone

_It was almost half gone_. 

Half gone memories. Half gone feelings. And his mind, half gone as well. But it still didn’t stop the hollow sensation, the anvil hidden in his chest, weighing against his heart and lungs and stomach, suffocating him, killing his brain. Somehow, he knew it was all nothing but a game he played with his own mind. He knew that what he felt had nothing to do with these useless things he tried to fill his mind with each waking hour, trying -in vain- to stop his thought process. But any amount of time he could use to try to keep his sanity, focusing on anything else than this endless misery of remembrance was a victory from the pain claiming him whole. The more he would manage to mislead his own mind, the less he would have to be in this dark. Think of the sky, he thought. Not the rocks.

If only it could die, really die. Fade away, curl around itself and vanish in a puff of smoke. It would be nice and fun to see the fire destroy itself and the fear shrink to thin, fragile, invisible layers. Killing, smoky lies. It would serve them well, after all. 

But the Dark and the anvil and the fire, they never left. And the fear and shame they brought with them creeped like lizards under his skin, stayed like scorpions on his brain.  _Is my mind diseased?_  He had asked. Maybe the rocks and smoke had crushed his brain, engulfed his cells.  _No_ , his brother had told him,  _no_ - all the while drinking liquor in the red and black rock house-  _it’s just your brain sending the wrong signals. That’s why you can’t breathe and that’s why you’re scared._  But there was no way he could breathe in the Dark, no way he could slip under the rocks without meeting death. Crushed. Ghosts.

One day, he knew it, the rocks all around them would break and bend and explode -as they always do- and he would finally break too. How simple it must be, he thought, to just let these things happen to you. To let yourself be destroyed by reality. No ghosts, no fear, no nightmares anymore. Just the truth and the sky.

His brother often talked about the future. But his future sounded violent and crazy.  _Not crazy like me, though_. Crazy like rocks exploding, blood, fire and faraway screams. Like bottles rolling in the deathly silence of the Cavern, at night.

He sometimes dreamed about places ; these were the only times he could see in the Dark. One day, wandering through the library, he had stumbled upon a mythology book. One of the chapter was about a hermit, exiled from his kingdom and his family, living close to the waters and the rocks. It was written that his life had begun again after he had nearly drowned, and survived.  _To survive_. 

Did the hermit feel alone? But at least his mind was free. And to live in the sky, to live under water… Wouldn’t it be worth it, worth all sacrifices? Being whole and holy and strong. Knowledge as a blanket, as an armor.  _I’m already alone anyway_.

And so he went to sleep every night, while listening to the screams of his brother raving downstairs, and he dreamed of stars and salty water breaking against crumbling rocks. And there at last, his mind was alive and free again. Deep in the undergrounds of earth, he rose to the light.

 _I will always be alone_. But the Dark could be mastered. And then, the Dark would make him King.

But not a king like Sirrus was, proud and needy and-  _yes_ -weak. A King without Fear. Without people to be kinging over. King of his own mind and sanity. Free.

Almost half gone. Until the next day.


End file.
